


It Was Enough

by Sildominarin



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sildominarin/pseuds/Sildominarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the moments in a web of lives that all connect through one person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rthstewart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/gifts).



**1\. Revelation**

The light in the room was low, shadows battled back by only a single brace of candles, and yet Iselle's eyes still burned. 

It was strain, she'd told herself a dozen times over. Strain from reading and rereading maps and letters and Ordol's ridiculous book. Not fatigue or grief or worry, or any of the thousand other small things that had driven her from her bed so early in the morning. And wasn't it just like him for Cazaril to be right, even hundreds of miles from home. His words came back to her now, that familiar voice from a time when she was not so sure in her opinion of this odd man.

_Not all prisons are iron bars. Some are made from feather beds, royesse._

She'd been insulted then, insulted and confused and humbled by her new tutor and his odd ways. He saw so much, knew so much. Had seen things she could never in all her life imagine. But he held little back from her. His education had been the most thorough she'd ever known, and it was proving to be vital in this, the darkest hour she had ever faced. 

When the summons to Cardegoss had come, all those months ago, Iselle had been delighted by the change in her world's view. A season at court had held such mystery for her. A chance to see what it really meant to be a Royesse, to see faces and names and all of the things she'd read about. Courtiers, lords, and ladies whose every step defined fashion and elegance. It was her road out of childhood, first steps on the path that would lead her into her woman's role. She would be entering society as a member of the court of Chalion, so far removed from her world in Valenda as to be impossible to imagine.

She'd been too eager, too naive. It was a child's joy and dreams that had embarked from Valenda in the summer, but a women had ridden back. The months in Cardegoss had been...illuminating. Wonderful and terrifying by turns, she had been unable to see how badly things were awry until it was too late. Until she had been trapped, faced with marriage to a man she abhorred, in a situation no amount of will could counter. Dondo would be a terrible husband, and her desperate prayers to the goddess for her own death had been true and urgent. Better death, the end of her very being, then a life with him.

But again, Cazaril's influence in her life had changed everything. The man who had been the bastion for them at court, shielding them from the worst of dy Jironel's machinations, had laid down once again in her defense. He'd been ready to sacrifice his very soul to save her from her fate, and in quiet moments the enormity of that sacrifice was astounding. That he had lived would be a joy she would cherish the rest of her life, and a miracle for which she would praise the Daughter all her days.

And now, even crippled and demon burdened though he be, Cazaril was still riding in her name. Making his way across uneasy borders with only the dy Guira brothers as escort. Ready to play illegal-or at least unapproved- ambassador in her name. Every challenge he rose to, every obstacle overcome. He was as loyal as Betriz, the second of only two people in all the world she could trust.

And oh, Betriz. The sister Iselle had never had, a friend beyond the meaning of the word. She had been as steadfast as any in Iselle's life, strong and cheerful and clever when the royesse needed a second pair of eyes. Her friend was as tired as she, helping Iselle to code or decipher the missives they sent to Cazaril, counter-spying on dy Jironel's nieces, and serving as the pillar of strength that Iselle needed when Teidez-

The breath caught in her throat, turning into a chocked sob before Iselle could stop it. Despite their differences, despite even all the things between them, Teidez had been her brother. Her little brother, always eager to prove himself and to escape the chafing of tutor and grandmother. But now he was gone, and the gaping whole in her life was large enough that she might drown in it, if too long lingered in. Things were moving too fast for grief, for proper mourning, but her heart ached for the brother she had so recently buried.

"No."

Her voice was barely more then a whisper, rousing tiny echoes in the quiet room. She couldn't linger. She just couldn't. There were things to do, things that could hold her attention for one more day. There were letters to write and maps to study, and when that was done she would fold handkerchiefs if that was what it took. Anything to keep her focus away from that hole in her heart.

Her latest coded cipher to Cazaril lay on the writing desk, folded and hidden, only waiting for her seal before it could be smuggled to the March dy Palliar, and handed off to whichever Daughter's courier he trusted with such things. Her candle would be easily lit, and the sealing process would be an easy enough task for her tired eyes to mana-

Iselle had stood, intending to light the purple sealing stick from a candle, but now she sank back into her chair. There was writing on the outside of the cipher's parchment, tiny numbers in their page/line/word code. The bold pen strokes were easily identified as Betriz's, even in the dim light, and curiosity had Iselle flipping through the 'Five Fold Pathway', in search of the refereed passage.

Oh Holy Family, Five times Five  
Your Mercy upon those who wander.  
I pray their paths be easy  
And their loads light.  
May no harm haunt their steps  
Nor sorrow darken their brow  
Your hands upon them,  
To guard and guide.  
Be a comfort, oh High Ones  
And lead them from wearied toil  
Guard those far from home,  
That they return to those that hold them dear  
Mother, Brother, Sister, Father  
Bastard who knows no rest  
Peace to those who travel far from home.  
In thy Holy Names we beseech.  


Iselle read the passage three times through, then set the book aside before her tears blotted the page. She had known that Betriz felt affection, perhaps even attraction, for Caz, but this.....this was love. Deep and true, the stuff of song and story. And she had been too trapped in her own grief and sorrow to realize that her dearest friend was suffering too. That she had been forced to watch the man she loved ride away, perhaps never to return. Or to return and face whatever doom the gods provided him for his service to her. What kind of mistress-what kind of friend?- was she, to miss such things?

_Cry your hour_ , her grandmother had always said, _and then move on_. Iselle was hurting, but so were others. Soon the sun would be rising and the shadows of the night would be gone. And then, with a clear head and her hour past, she would look on all her challenges. Great and small, domestic and those of Chalion.

And, she decided as she carefully let the wax cover the tiny letters and pressed her ring to it, she would think upon what might be done to comfort those who she held close to her heart.

**2\. First Impressions**

In forty years as Roya, the Fox had seen many ambassadors. Some were pompous, aware of their position and the power they held. Others were more subtle, hiding their teeth behind deference and protocol. Clever as the name his allies had gifted him, the Roya of Ibra knew how to handle all of them. Flattery, bribery, outright threats, all had their turn at the treaty table. And not since his youth, since the day his father had succumbed to the Coughing Fever and left him an unsteady throne, had he faced any he could not control. Above generals and admirals and courtiers, ambassadors were his favorite playthings.

And so when this Cazaril, dressed in somber blacks and purples and carrying his missives entered his chamber, the Fox took notice.

This was no scholar, for all his dress tried to show it. Despite his title of lord he was not a fop, some younger son given a position in government to satisfy a wealthy father. The Roya knew that he faced a soldier, a man who had proven his courage on the field. There was a cleverness in his face, in his eyes. Hidden behind his court dress and courier's manners was a fighter, a man of the sword. He would require different handling, of course, but was surely no great puzzle as others who had stood before the Ibran court.

And then Cazaril had spoken, and the Fox's world was altered. The four months that Bergon was missing had been as cruel as the Bastard's Hell. No one had heard or seen anything, and his spies in his son's court were too busy being beheaded to send him word. To discover that his youngest child had been a captive, enslaved by the Roknari, was a harsher blow yet. Even Bergon's safe return could not completely allay his fears. He owed the man before him a debt greater then could be repaid, and yet must cross wits with him. It was an uncomfortable position.

Especially when Caz's wits were sharp as knives. His words were perfect, bluntly honest and still respectful. Playing on his connection with Bergon without even a hint of manipulation. A good man, in the political field. And he had come asking the impossible.

Oh yes, the Fox decided, rising to end this initial interview and invite his suddenly honored guests to dine with them. This Cazaril would bear some watching.

**3\. High Company**

"Fools! Can none of them see?"

The Bastard, Lord of the Unseason, Commander of Demons, cursed violently. There were none to hear him, of course-- mortals could not see them, for all their were a mere handsbreadth apart. The distance might as well be leagues, however, for all he could do. Even a God, gifted with powers that no mortal could imagine, might not reach his hand out and change thigns as he willed. He was helpless to intervene as Lupe dy Cazaril made his precarious way across roof slates to a ruined tower, planning on a prayer that could in no way be answered.

"Your anger will serve you no good, Half-Brother."

Spring herself stood beside him, splendid as always in her blues and whites. Just a hint of some strange flower filled the air, proof that she had been listening to those who called upon her. And wasn't it wonderful that she had armies to call upon at need, but that he must scrape by with a few crows and a clever but politically powerless saint?

"My anger is all I have, dear lady. All our plans are falling apart." He made an angry slashing motion with his hand. "Cazaril will make the sacrifices, and I cannot in good faith deny him. But he is too valuable to lose. All the work with the Roknari, for nothing!"

"He is not the only one who seeks death," The Daughter said, a faint furrow between her brows. "Even now the Royesse Iselle prays that I rescue her form this marriage with the Lord dy Dondo. How he became General in my name I'll never-"

"Say that again." The Bastard's voice was commanding, excitement thrumming through him.

The Lady of Spring frowned. "The....Royesse is praying for rescue?"

"Hah! Oh yes, it is to brilliant to pass up!" Grabbing his half-sister's hand, he spun them in a circle. "I will answer Cazaril's prayers and send my demon for the two souls. You-"

"But you just said-"

"Hush, let me finish. You will grant Iselle her prayer. It is a small enough window for this. Trap my demon and Dondo, anchor them both to Cazaril."

"He will not be pleased," she said, but a smile was touching her own lips. "We must not push him too far, lest we lose his will."

"Oh, he will be a good sport about it." The Bastard was chuckling, even as a flurry of wings anounced the slain crow's arrival. He stroked the glossy black wings, silencing the bird's mutterings.

"After all, he'll have the patience of a saint."

4\. Sticks and Stones

The delegations from Roknar and Chalion had been at the treaty table barely an hour, and already Iselle's patience was running thin. Between Chalion and Ibra the Roknari princedoms had been given a thorough trouncing, but the way these ambassadors whined it may as well have been she and Bergon who had suffered defeat. The Roknari demands were unbelievable, and only Cazaril's quiet opinion that the ambassadors sought to anger her helped the young Royina keep her countenance.

"...full access to trade in previously conquered lands, and the keeping of tariffs in the same." The oily voice was smug under it's deference. "Surely this is only fair, Roya Bergon, Royina?"

"I fail to see your logic." Caz answered instead, his tone bored. It had been decided earlier, during a short break, that so long as the ambassador's kept their needling and subtle insults in conversation, neither Iselle nor Bergon would respond. It had the double benefit of both mild insult, and keeping the one who spoke Roknari the best at the forefront of the conversations.

iry Trayv, the lead ambassador and Iselle's personal headache, only sneered. His Chalionese was spotty at best, and his attempts at intelligible conversation had made them all cringe. "My Lord Chancellor, I would hope to like very much a conversment with the Roya and Royina."

~I'm sure you would.~ Despite Cazaril's mode being that of lord to lord, his tone was that of a parent to a particularly stubborn child. and seeing as his daughter took very much after her mother, he has some experience with that sort of thing. ~Regardless, my Lord Ambassador, your requests make it impossible to take such desires seriously.~

The sneer turned into a scowl, and Iyr Trayv's tone was harsh and low. his tone, that of lord to servant, added insult upon insult to the words. ~I had hoped more understanding of you, my lord. After all, we did play host to you for some months, did we not?~

Beside Iselle, Bergon went stiff. It had been four nights of arguments to convince her husband that no good would come of accusations of the treatment Cazaril had suffered. It had been dy Jironel's machinations, and no real intent on the part of the Roknari. Caz had agreed, adding that the risk of them finding out that Bergon had been a captive as well could weaken both their stance unbiased peacemakers, and the Fox's intent to forge a ceseation of violence. But for the Roknari delegation to bring it up was intolerable, and Iselle felt herself shake with anger as the man continued.

~Yes, I see you remember. We would be happy to play such gracious hosts again, provided-~

~Enough!~

Iselle did not remember rising to her feet, but the fact that she had seen the tiniest tremor in Caz's hand was reason enough for her to stay there. She'd meant to demand respect for her Chancellor, to remind the Roknar of his place as the defeated at the table. Instead, her mind supplied her with the words that Caz had offered as bribes, all those years ago in Valenda.

~You are the son of a whore, and find your pleasures with men of the same. Go back to your masters, cur, and tell them that until Roknar sees reason in the treaty tent that there will be no peace between us!~

There was silence for a long moment, the Roknari shocked, Cazaril obviously resisting the urge to cover his face and lament over his failure as a tutor, and Bergon clearing his throat.

~I think the Royina has made Chalion-Ibra's stance perfectly clear. Leave now, and send word again when you are ready to negotiate.~

Still shocked-or insulted beyond words, it was hard to tell- the Roknari delegation filed out. And Iselle decided to count herself lucky that Cazaril waited until they were alone before he spoke.

"Royina Iselle dy Chalion-Ibra, that is not why I taught you those words."

She found herself grinning, leaning back in her chair to smile teasingly at him. "No, you taught me them to make me learn my Roknari. It worked."

"I did not have so thorough an education," Bergon added, and the laughter he had been fighting bubbled out. "Will you teach me, my lord Chancellor?"

Cazaril stalked out, muttering something about the two being suited for each other, and Iselle smiled up at her husband. "Despite his absence, I might be able to teach you something."

His arms slid around her waist, and he smiled against her mouth. "Oh, I very much hope so."

**4\. A Most Depressing Loss**

Bergon dy Ibra, Royse of Ibra and son of the Fox, fisted the thin coverlet in his hands in a desperate bid for control. His father's hand on his shoulder-with a gentleness that belied the fear that had been suffered those four months- did little to aid him, though the weight was a powerful reminder of why he wanted control. He would not shame his father, not here.

"-in every hospital and repose house." The man- a captain by his uniform and bearing- was saying quietly. "He could not be found. I am sorry, Royse, but if his injuries were truly as great as you claim it is possible he did not survive at all."

Bergon knew that. Damn the man, he wasn't a child, to be spoon fed such obvious information! He'd known that Caz was seriously injured, that few men could survive even half of what he had suffered. But his friend had always been strong, always been almost cheerful through the horrors they had endured. And he had saved Bergon from a fate that still chilled him when he thought too much about it. Caz had been strong and kind and loyal. The gods wouldn't take that kind of man away.

_The gods wouldn't put that kind of man in such a terrible situation to begin with_ , a small voice whispered in his mind. _But there he was all the same._

His silence must have drawn on too long. His father's hands tightened fractionally, and then the Roya was speaking.

"Thank you, Captain, for this service, for both my son and I. If you will seek my steward, I would speak to you about this again at a better time."

"Of course milord. Royse." The man made his salutes and bowed out, glad to be free of so gloomy a room.

Only when he was gone, and the silence filled the room like some soft funeral dirge, did Bergon allow his emotions some small leeway. The first tear had barely struck the blanket, though, and his father's arms were around him.

"I'm sorry," the Fox whispered, holding as tightly as he dared with the injuries to Bergon's back. "I'm sorry I could not find him for you. I'm sorry I let you be taken in the first place."

"I...It's not your fault." His voice still felt wooden, even to his own ear, and so he swallowed and tried again. "He...would surely have only suffered if he had lived.I just..."

The tears fell heavier now, and Bergon's breath caught in his chest. "I didn't even now his full name. He saved me so many times, and I never even asked."

And The Roya could only rock his weeping son and pray, silently, that the Gods offer some great reward to this unknown Caz, for to whom he owed so much.

**5\. A Great and Terrible Power**

Cazaril sat looking at his desk for a long time.

It was a plain thing, sturdy oak with many handy cubbyholes and drawers. The top shone with fresh polish, and the faintest smell of beeswax still rose from the unlit candles. Books were stacked neatly on one side, and the official looking missives, letters and documents were stacked in an ornately carved box on the other. The rest was fresh, new, and untouched.

But the desk...the desk was old. Lives and been ended here, on paper at least. Wars and peace and trades, all made here. The good and bad of running a royacy, everything that truly affected Chalion had at one time or another sat here. As had the men who had done much of that affecting.

Dy Tueflir under Roya Weslin, who'd altered the way of life for most of Chalion and revolutionized the tax holidays. dy Gyra under Fonsa, who;d instigated a war that would cost so much. dy Lutez under ias, loved by Roya and Roya. And Under Orico...

"I don't know if I can do this."

The words were quiet, broken, and unheard in the empty room. They'd wanted to give him a chance to see his office for the first time alone. To arrange things the way he'd wanted before they let the business and worry and hours of stress pour in. There were couriers and messengers and servants waiting, waiting on the Chancellor dy Cazaril open the doors and start the day.

But Caz-exhausted, healing, nervous, Gods-touched and nervous- didn't know if he could.

So many terrible things could go wrong. Iselle had fought for this new Chalion-Ibra, but she may have doomed it from the start...

_She fought for it_ , a voice in his head said, and it sounded unnervingly like Umegat. _But did you not write it?_

He had, that was true, and his body remembered every mile-

_Didn't you negotiate for it in the den of the Fox himself?_ That time it was Palli, the inner voice sounding both concerned and amused. _Iselle wasn't there for that._

Well, no, but-

_But nothing. We have what we garner ourselves, foolish child. Haven't I taught you that?_

The Provincara's voice made him smile suddenly, at the memory of sitting in her presence almost a year ago. He'd been so nervous, sure that he would fail whatever she asked of him and be tossed out to a world that had forgotten him.

...But he hadn't. Caz sat back in the chair, letting the thought slowly build in him. He hadn't failed that. He had served Iselle to the best of his ability, and had they not together built something that worked? He'd not done it alone, to be sure, but...neither had she. And Bergon too had a good head on his shoulders. They worked well together, two clever young people who surely had chosen him for some reason.

Besides, it was just a desk. He wasn't afraid of a desk, surely, not after so many other things he'd seen inhis service to the Royina. A desk was a peaceful destiny after his other duties. 

And when the first tentative knock of his new career sounded on the door, it was not the world weary Caz who raised a nervous and uncertain gaze to it, unsure of his ability in this strange new position

The Chancellor dy Cazaril was already reading the first letters of this new post when he called for them to enter.

End 


End file.
